


Dubuque Werewolves Prefer Kum & Go

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Supernatural, Superwho - Fandom, Superwood - Fandom, Torchwood
Genre: M/M, Post-Series, Torchwood 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2715842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the Harkstiel Holiday Advent. It's just another bloody cold night for Torchwood 5, investigating heartless corpses in Dubuque, Iowa. If this outfit said dissension in the ranks was unusual, they'd be lying to themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dubuque Werewolves Prefer Kum & Go

When they reached the scene of the crime, the first real snow of the year powdered the street and the corpse. It was still coming down, leaving perfect flakes on the shoulders of Jack's coat, and the cold meat of the victim's open chest.

Werewolf, Castiel thought.

Jack's team settled around them like a flock of crows, flashing their badges to the police to clear a space. The Torchwood name would do nothing for them at the moment, so these badges were FBI. Jack was trying, nudging around the right corners in politics and pulling strings still available to him, but progress had to be slow of necessity. America had a different set of customs, and a different arrangement of departments, even if politicians everywhere were generally the same. Castiel shook off the abstract thoughts and turned his focus back to the team. Fran had her kit open while Ty organized the police to the perimeters of the scene, where a crowd gathered. Humans were nothing if not attracted to the detritus of chaos.

Jack moved abreast of Castiel as they approached the body, moving carefully within the cordoned area. There was a small chance that this wasn't a monster attack, but they needed to keep up the semblance of authority, which meant preserving the integrity of the site for the crowd. "This looks familiar to you?" He murmured, bending his head close. Castiel nodded, eyeing the body critically. He extended his senses to take in the city block, taking advantage of Jack's closeness and the power he offered. While the area pulsed with life, it was of the insect and human kind, with a smattering of cat, dog, raccoon, rat and mouse. No anomalies. No werewolves in the vicinity.

"Whatever did this is long gone," Castiel confirmed, breath smoking in the frigid night, "but yes, I recognize it."

Fran peered into the body cavity and waved her hand for their attention. Castiel turned with Jack to face her fully, then approached as she rose to meet them, stepping carefully in her own tracks. "The victim's heart is missing," she said, "the rib cage was ripped open, but no other organs are disturbed." Her hands curled and uncurled at her sides, but her expression and voice was calm. She was still relatively new, recruited from an Emergency Room after an incident not all that different from this one. The saddest part of her cool demeanor was the knowledge that she'd seen worse in her E.R., from humans.

"That confirms my suspicion," Castiel replied, nodding. He pushed his hands into his pockets and glanced up to Jack. "We'll start looking now. In a few hours they'll pass as human again, with no knowledge of what they've done." He began moving away, waving for Sean and Bette to join him. 

"Castiel?" Jack called, stopping him in his tracks. 

Castiel turned in place. "Yes, Jack?"

"You briefed me on the protocol," Jack said, "are you sure there's nothing we can do for them?"

Castiel shook his head. "The science to reverse the process does not exist. It's been attempted, many times, to no avail."

Jack watched him, a dark, silent shadow in the floodlights around the scene. He lifted his head, meeting Castiel's eyes, and his tone was firm. "If you can contain it, I want it contained, Archer."

"That will put our people at risk," Castiel argued. At his sides, Sean and Bette tensed. He knew they wanted the challenge. Wanted to impress him and Jack. That was the problem.

Jack nodded. "I understand. Don't take any risks you don't need to. But I want it contained."

Anger flooded bile into the back of Castiel's throat. He squared up, tensed, and stamped on it short of exploding into full-blown defiance. The team didn't need to see this. Shouldn't see this. "Understood, Jack," Castiel snapped, spun, and led his detachment into the night.

-

One witness reported a tall, thin figure hustling out of the alley and moving strangely, several hours before the body was found. Castiel moved in the direction they indicated, but the trail was covered in snow and had been tamped down by many feet. Sean and Bette were full of adrenaline, hearts pumping loud enough with excitement that he could hear it from the driver's seat of the Jeep. He tried not to sigh, for their benefit. They weren't as seasoned as Jack would prefer, but they were smart and capable. Castiel preferred soldiers that hadn't been completely indoctrinated. He needed a team to function as a unit, and they were an unorthodox outfit. Military personnel were used to different protocols, and objected far too much.

"We saw the blood trail turn this direction for a block before the snow covered it," Castiel murmured, "a kill like that, it's going to be covered in gore. Where would it go to clean up?"

"Outdoor gas station bathroom?" Sean suggested.

"Those need keys most of the time, these days," Bette said.

Castiel shook his head. "It's a werewolf. Locks mean nothing. But tearing a door off of its hinges would draw attention."

"Would it go to ground?" Bette offered, "you said these things don't even remember the next day. If it's all instinct, maybe it's got a territory."

They came to a stoplight, and a gas station in chaos across the avenue. There were people running outside, hands straining out for safety. Their muted screams filtered through the Jeep's canvas cover. Castiel looked at Bette in the passenger seat. "Maybe it liked the gas station idea." He floored the accelerator, careening through the red light and into the gas station's tiny parking lot. As he threw the Jeep into park and piled out with his team, red splattered messily across the storefront.

"Level ten tranks, silver restraint pack," Castiel barked. Sean tossed him a clip of silver bullets from the rear of the Jeep, which he crammed into his firearm as he ran for the convenience store entrance and the blood-sprayed window. His fury soared as he nearly tripped over a body in the entryway - the blood was only from the last of three victims in the store, their bodies opened like racks of lamb ribs. He thumbed off the safety as he walked slowly, shoes sticking to the sloppy tile floor. Wet sounds issued from the back of the store, where the werewolf carved out its fifth heart of the night, shielded from view by racks of donuts and fruit pies.

Orders came first. Orders were orders, and - at least for appearances - he and Jack needed to be a unit.

Castiel shot a prayer to God. Don't let it attack. If it attacked, he'd put it down.

He ducked, edging until he got an eye around the racks to see the werewolf. It was crouched, hands a deep, murderous red, fresh heart between them and held to its lips. The human it had been was male and looked around twenty, thin and gawky, in a blood-spattered Oakland Raiders skullcap and a puffy winter coat. Compared to the atrocities committed, he looked frail. The in-store music must have shifted playlists, as suddenly the floor-rumbling bass of 'Spirit in the Sky' poured over the carnage. It startled the werewolf, and suddenly the weird pinprick pupils were staring right at Castiel.

From his periphery, Castiel saw motion at the door. Sean and Bette were behind him with loaded tranquilizer guns, each carrying the heaviest sedatives they had. He needed them to have a clear shot and a few seconds' lead-off, or the werewolf would still tear through them like paper. He'd seen Sam and Dean pull this maneuver countless times. The werewolf was growling at him, still evaluating if he was a threat or a meal, and hadn't spotted the rest of Castiel's team.

Castiel whipped back behind the racks, scooping items from the shelves on his way to make the biggest racket he possibly could.

There was a grunt on the other side, before the werewolf launched itself straight through the flimsy wire racks. Castiel sidestepped and ran, sliding up hard against the glass refrigerated cases on the back wall.

He couldn't shoot. Sean and Bette were directly behind the werewolf, taking aim.

They'd get their man, too late to save him. Castiel was in for a supreme face-ripping.

He heard a double thump. A scream tore out of the werewolf, and Castiel backed enough to fire a single shot at an angle, low.

It was on him then, blown off kilter by the three shots, howling in pain and rage. Its movements were already sluggish, but sharp nails raked across his face, catching Castiel's right eye with searing bolt of pain.

It dropped on him, whimpering into sleep like a puppy. Castiel shoved it off of him with a frustrated scream. His team offered their hands, and Castiel flailed for them, his sudden lack of depth perception only adding to his anger. He let the rage carry him through the pain. With a wave of his hand, he made the bodies and the blood disappear. The energy required to atomize all that matter undid him almost completely, and he sagged against Sean's side.

"Captain," Castiel barked into his earpiece, glad the creature hadn't torn it off, "objective secure. Four dead. We need a cleanup crew for three witnesses who escaped the scene."

"Got it," Jack replied, "We're just turning things back over to Dubuque's finest, here. What's your location?"

Castiel blinked from Sean to Bette. She straightened from cuffing the sleeping, wounded werewolf, and put her hand to her own headset. "A Kwik Stop on the corner of University and Asbury, sir, about five minutes north of your location," She shot Castiel a worried look. The blood tickled his skin as it crept down his face from the wounds. "Hurry. Castiel's hurt."

"Archer?"

There was grim satisfaction in Castiel's response, and he didn't bother mincing words. "I lost an eye in the charge."

When Jack spoke again, the swagger was gone. "We're en route. I can give your battery a jump on the way home."

"Appreciated," Castiel snapped, and let the line go dead. He looked at his team, who gazed back at him with thinly veiled awe. Castiel sighed. If Fran could handle a gun, he'd much rather have her on a mission. She, at least, didn't treat him like a hero. "Get him secured," he said, gentler now without Jack in the conversation, "I'll start closing off the perimeter. The police will beat Jack here." Blood trickled over his brow and into his remaining good eye, and Castiel scrubbed at it in frustration, irritating the slices in his cheek and forehead. "I tried to subdue the suspect, he attacked, and fled on foot."

"With all due respect, sir," Sean said, "sit down."

"You need help," Castiel protested, fury ebbing away as the pain drained his endorphins.

"We need you alive more," Sean replied, and guided his superior firmly to the floor. Then he and Bette moved the still unconscious werewolf, per Jack's request, to the back of the Jeep and secured him for the ride back to the Hub. Castiel watched them go, the persistent snowfall swirling around their heads like moths.

A Hostess lemon pie rested a few inches away, miraculously unspoiled. Castiel picked it up and tore off the wrapper. 'Spirit in the Sky' faded into another ubiquitous southern rock song.


End file.
